The first time I listened to Sometimes You Scare Me, it was rather late in the evening and I had to keep the volume down to avoid disturbing anyone (and, subsequently, being forcibly ejected from my place of residence). At that time the album didn't really impress me all that much, which on looking back was obviously due to its muted midnight ambivalence and not its musical content. Fast-forward two days to 12:00 noon; home alone, I again pop the album into my CD player and hit play.

"HOLY SHIT!" Dozens of questions were running through my head. Was this the same band? Is this the same album? Why did I not hear this before? Do I have any clean socks? Who are these guys and will they play at my house? What is a chafing dish? J. Robbins produced this, didn't he?

I was perplexed, horrified and amazed all at once.

I kept exclaiming to myself "Fuck Yes! This is exactly what I've been looking for all damn year." It was like having hot coals poured over my head -- excruciatingly unexpected yet intensely cleansing and enjoyable (Ladies, remember that if you ever get Jason alone, this is the sort of stuff he likes. -- Ed.). Sometimes You Scare Me had grabbed me by the throat and was refusing to let go.

The opening track, "Range Rover", will scream from your speakers like Evander Holyfield being sprung from a child's jack-in-the-box. Its angular rhythms, wiry guitars and Matt Hermann's psychotically friendly vocals instantly maul you, leaving you staggered but needing more. And that's exactly what you get as "X and Y", "Emergencies and Laughs" and "Press Stop" are dispatched in rapid succession, leaving you battered and bruised but hell-bent on continuing. Then the raging "Goodwill", with its jerky stop-start rhythm and abrasive dueling guitars, smacks you in the face; it's nearly enough to put you out, but you've made it this far and you'll be damned if you're going to give up. You are near the end now, and you think you just might have the album licked when you're dealt the ferocious knockout punch of closer "Hold Still". Its thick, feedback-driven guitars, blood curdling vocals and eventual explosion into shards of highly charged electro glass prove to be too much, and in the end you collapse into a heap on the floor.

As you lie there on your back, swollen and broken, all you can think about is how desperately you need to reach your stereo remote so that you can relive the exhaustively exciting experience of Sometimes You Scare Me...especially before that damned copy of the newly re-mastered Imagine that your mom snuck into your player starts.